


do or die, steve

by hawkinzclub



Series: what do we do now? [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: :(, Gen, dark stories are my weakness, the steve and dustin tag is brotherly, uh ha ha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-28 13:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkinzclub/pseuds/hawkinzclub
Summary: Steve didn’t have any other choice. He was alone now.





	do or die, steve

* * *

“I’d like a triple vanilla swirl with rainbow sprinkles _please_.”

”Kid, this is your like - _third_ ice cream cone.”

”Whatever, just give me my ice cream. _Sailor Steve_.”

Steve thought it was kind of messed up for someone to be making fun of him when he could spit in their ice cream. But because he was a nice person now, he simply resorted to making the worst ice cream cone possible, and he made sure to put _at least_ four rainbow sprinkles.

”Here you go, kid.”

The boy just snatched it out of his fingers and ran off. Steve stared at the clock, again. It was nearly midnight, and the ice cream parlor was still swarming with children and their wiped out parents. Even Ted Wheeler sat in a chair at the corner, nodding with his mouth open as Holly bounces around on a sugar high.

It was _Craig’s_ lovely idea to stay open until midnight, to ‘let the kids enjoy ice cream on a hot day’ which Steve knew was total bullshit. It was a breezy 75 degrees out, and the wind was blowing. _Craig_ just wanted to beat the other manager three towns over in the sister store, but _Craig_ is dumb because Hawkins is a total shit hole and they’re stuck with the same fifty kids in rotation. Gross.

He stared at the clock and when kids bounced up to his register he pretended they weren’t there and stared at the wall in mock interest, and let them move over to Robin. And Steve was sure that even though it was summer, some type of child labor laws had to have been broken here, she’s like 15.

But, she wouldn’t cover for him when Dustin came in, crying for help. So Steve continued to stare at the big hand on the clock as it inched closer and closer to the big 12.

And then, at 12:09, just when Steve managed to wrangle the kids out of the parlor and tend to a confused Ted Wheeler, he was ready to go. But of course, after hiding in the miniature break room for the past five hours, Craig emerges and tells Robin she can leave, but Steve has to stay and close.

Which, on any other night it would’ve been fine. But there’s ice cream on the lower parts of the walls, and other icky child like fluids, snot and _that better not be fucking puke_ on the chairs and the floors. And there was a thirteen year old kid who needed him, he didn’t know what for, but it doesn’t matter cause that was _hours_ ago and Steve just can’t shake off the feeling that he’d let his makeshift brother down.

So, he sweeps and he mops and he wipes and he holds his nose, and by the time he’s finished, it’s knocking at two in the morning.

Steve drives home, slowly, and gets there by 2:45. He plops down on the bed, still in his uniform that may or may not have child gunk on them, and he attempts to fall asleep. But, when the lights that he has on in the house flicker, his breathing kicks up, just a little. Then when the wind doesn’t let up, and it whips against the flag dangling off of the pole in their backyard, it sounds too much like a certain monster from a time ago. So he just sits up on his bed and he doesn’t move, stiff as a board until his clock reads 7:27 and daylight starts to break through.

He runs down the stairs and grabs at his keys, his hands and feet itching to do the familiar motions, and he makes the drive to the Henderson household.

At 7:40 he rips out of his car and he almost loses his shoes as he scrambles out, and runs to the front door.

The door opens just a few seconds after he knocks, and when the fumes of a blossoming breakfast invade his senses, he knew that Claudia was close by.

”Steve - oh _Steve_ , you look dead tired honey! Come in!” She beckoned him in with a big smile and closed the door behind him. She hurried back over to the kitchen.

”Thanks, Mrs. Henderson.” He mumbles a little too late, but she doesn’t question it, just smiles as she works on the pancakes.

He curses himself mentally and makes his way into kitchen, hovering awkwardly, “Um, do you need help?”

”No I got it, just go sit on the couch honey. I heard the ice cream shop was swamped yesterday.” She shoos him away and he inches away from her, just a little bit as a new question landed itself on his lips.

”Oh! Did - did Dustin tell you? Is he here, still asleep?” He starts to head down the hall but then,

”Dusty isn’t here, yesterday he took off,” She paused for a moment of thought and frowns only slightly, “Something about a code red, you know how dramatic he is.”

He snaps his head to her, and he starts panicking again and he grabs at his keys and before he can bolt out the door Claudia is on his heels, “Steve you’re beat. Have some breakfast and get some rest okay?” She rubs at his arm and gives him a look that Steve would recognize as motherly, if he had one. 

“Have you been taking your meds?” She asks sweetly.

”Yes.” No.

She pleads at him again with her eyes, and he nods solemnly as he sits down and she sets a plate out in front of him.

She sits across from him, “My Dusty is a smart boy, but he can _miscalculate_ sometimes, he probably stayed the night at a friends.”

And it’s now that he’s being consoled by Dustin’s mom, that he realized he’s invested himself much more than he meant to into these kids. But he doesn’t plan to let up.

Things have been hard for Steve, when he’d consistently have panic attacks and bad thoughts, it was Joyce Byers who had posed as his mother and had taken him to see a doctor. Not Anne _Harrington_ , but Joyce _Byers_. A woman who wasn’t even his mother had done more for him than Anne had in like, ever.

When Lucas and Max found out that he hadn’t been eating because there weren’t any groceries and because Steve just didn’t feel like caring about himself, Mrs. Sinclair sent him food every night. Anne and John _Harrington_ didn’t even send him pizza money anymore.

And one night, when Steve was dropping Dustin off at home, he was having a rough time. It was one of _those_ days but multiplied by one hundred. And when Claudia Henderson saw the tears that brushed at the corners of his eyes, she led him to the couch and she let him cry. Then she and Dustin baked brownies, and Dustin curled up next to him on the couch, resting his head on his shoulder.

Things were hard, still, but it was better. And it all started with Dustin Henderson.

So Steve just hummed and says, “Yeah, he probably did.”

At 8:30 they’re finishing up, and Claudia shoos him away again when he tries to help wash the dishes. She claims it’s her time to wind down, and gestures to the couch where he’s laid his head many nights.

He sits down gingerly, his muscles aching and he grimaces as he gets a whiff of himself, and makes a point to apologize to Claudia later on for stinking up her couch. As he lays down, he catches the lock box under the television in the corner of his eye, and he chuckles to himself as he thinks back to a memory, and falls asleep.

” _Steve.”_

_He felt a shove his shoulder, but he didn’t budge._

_”Steve, wake up.”_

_Just pretend to be asleep and he’ll leave you alone, he thinks._

_He hears a heavy sigh and, “Steve, buddy, you’re a terrible actor. I know you’re awake.”_

_Steve groans and sits up before he opens his eyes, when he does it’s dark and Dustin looks scared, wide eyed and his chest is bobbing up and down._

_”What’s wrong, is it - is it back?”_

_”I don’t know. I just heard something.”_

_Steve just nods and he stands up, then Dustin grabs at his shirt._

_”Where’s your bat?”_

_”Um, it’s in my car?”_

_Dustin throws his hands up in the air in exasperation and then lands them on his head, or hat, whatever. “In your car Steve? In your car?”_

_Steve waves his hands around and stares at Dustin like he’d let a baby monster in his house. Oh wait -_

_“Why in the hell would I bring a nail bat into your mothers house?”_

_Dustin stares at him for a moment, considering the responsibility of Steve’s choice and he sighs._

_”Look, kid, I don’t hear anything so maybe it was just an animal or something.” Steve says, sitting back down on the couch._

_”I just... Can you just check?”_

_”With what, Dustin?” Steve asks slightly irritability, as he was just starting to drift off into a much needed sleep when Dustin had woken him up._

_Dustin’s gaze shifts over to their TV, and a little below it, “You could use that.”_

_Steve follows his eyes and snorts, “A box?”_

_Dustin rolls his eyes. “No, Steve. The thing inside the box.”_

_”Well, what’s in it?” Steve asks after Dustin is annoyingly silent._

_”The code is 12-31-6.” And Steve got up and sighed as he realized Dustin was going to make him see what it was for himself, and he almost shit his pants when he saw what was inside._

_”Dustin, what the fuck?!”_

When Steve woke up, and he’s not sure from what it was he woke up from, he felt a pull. It was unnatural. He didn’t feel like he did before he went to sleep. Right now he didn’t feel like _Steve_ , he felt _less_ than Steve. Something was missing.

It was unnaturally quiet, and much darker than it was this morning. He sat up and shifted around to face the clock that hung on the wall behind him, it read 8:21.

He’d slept twelve hours.

”Shit.” He muttered to himself, and he froze as he heard a gasp in the kitchen. He shot up and had to steady himself, he felt strange in his own skin, as if he was floating, hovering over himself.

As he walked into the kitchen, he froze.

There was Claudia Henderson, hands gripping the counter so tight she would start bleeding. Her breathing was shallow, she was shaking, she was crying.

He started tentatively, and he whispered, “Mrs. Henderson?”

She turned her head, only her head and she opened her mouth to speak but instead she just slid down the floor, and her sobs got louder.

He grabbed her hands, “What’s wrong?” She shook her head and she tried to speak again but only a choked replied.

He asked her again, his voice withering away as the sight of her like this felt like a heavy foot crushing his heart, “What’s wrong? What happened?” He paused for a moment as he took in her state, the silence and darkness encompassing the house.

”Where is Dustin?”

She gripped at his shirt and managed to pinch a little of his skin in the process. Then she finally looked at him and it made Steve want to run. Nobody had ever looked like that before. Her eyes, were so full of pain that he winced when she made eye contact with him. She was pale and clammy and when she opened her mouth and a sob didn’t escape, she was getting ready to answer him.

Steve felt that pull again, tighter than the grip Claudia had on his shirt.

”He’s dead.”

And if Steve were made of glass, he would be broken as those words were gravity yanking him to down to the floor and leaving him in pieces.

He swallowed, then blinked.

He blinked again.

” _Where_ is Dustin?”

Because, no.

Dustin was at Scoops Ahoy, just hours ago. He was there in line shoving at the kids, calling out for Steve, needing his attention, needing his help.

He watched as Dustin left, scornful, still empty handed. 

He needed Steve, and he wasn’t there.

He was too worried about - about scooping _ice cream_ for the most ungrateful little shits he’d ever seen in his life, but the _one_ kid who cared, the one time Dustin needed him instead of the other way around, _Steve wasn’t there_.

Claudia gripped at his shirt tighter, and through his cloudiness and her tears and sobbing he almost missed what she said.

Almost.

She breathed it out, like it physically hurt to speak. “Blue.”

He was going to ask what that meant, but he saw her struggling to speak again so he waited, and waited as tears and snot pooled around his lips. But he couldn’t break now, not now.

”Camaro. Blue Camaro.”

She looked up at him again and he wished she would stop doing that, “He just left Dusty there to _die_.”

That was the last thing Steve Harrington heard Claudia Henderson say.

The phone rang, and she moved as fast as she could to answer.

Steve shuffled aimlessly back to the living room, his chest burning. He was going to break now, he could do it now that she was distracted. But his eyes were darting around the room, his fingers itching at one another, his breath hitching in his throat and darkness closing in around his eyes. He picked at his dirty shirt, pulled on it like a scared little kid pulling at his mom. But he was alone. He didn’t have a mom to cry to. She would tell him to _stop being such a baby, Steven_. His dad would ignore him, because all of Steve made him feel ashamed beyond what should be emotionally possible. He couldn’t go to Claudia, no matter how many times she had been motherly to him, he wasn’t her son. She wasn’t his mom, no matter how much he wanted her to be. Her _real_ son, was dead now. Steve was alone now. The rock he had, was washed away by the crushing waves of death, and pain.

He was panicking, and then.

He lingered on the box. That box.

And he found it even harder to breathe. He didn’t have any other choice. Do or die, Steve.

He reached for the knob, and he turned it shakily, right left then right again.

And, did it even matter? Do or die? 

12.

31.

6.

Because for him, it meant the same thing.

There was a click, and it opened, and there it lay, his weapon of choice. The only choice he had left. 

He left Claudia Henderson alone in her house, that dark house all by herself, just as she learned that her only child was now dead, and at the hands of a murderous teenager.

Blue Camaro.

He pulled up the house on Old Cherry Road, and he parked his car. The silence was deafening around him, and the reality of everything was finally coming down like a bag over his head, smothering him.

Dustin Henderson was dead.

He gripped the steering wheel and rested his hand on it, and a sob escaped his lips. Then another, and another.

Then he was screaming, his throat ached and his fists hurt as he slammed them down repeatedly on the dashboard. He slammed them down until they were bleeding, until his nerves ached, until he felt something other than the crushing weight of defeat that lingered in his chest.

As he pushed open the front door to the Hargrove house, he lingered for a minute and listened.

He listened as he showered. Steve’s brother was _dead, dead, dead_ and Billy Hargove was showering. Washing himself clean of what he had done. Ridding himself of a dead kid.

He almost went in the bathroom, he almost did it right then. But he wanted him to feel _safe_.

He knew Billy was going to run when he had the chance, and that chance would be now.

He would feel safe, grab money that Steve knew he stashed, and he would high tail it out of Hawkins. Away from the death that would forever linger over his fingers.

That chance would be now.

And the shower stops, and Steve’s sitting on Billy’s bed, reeking of ice cream and puke. His head was throbbing and he sat the gun in his lap and pulled on his hair, tugging it in every direction.

The gun in his lap. The only choice he had left.

Billy came into the room, and his chance to leave would be now, if it weren’t for Steve.

And he wants to say something to crush his spirit, to mock him, he really does. But his throat hurts because he was screaming in his car not just ten minutes ago. His little brother was dead, and the person who took his soul stood in front of him.

And Steve, he was going to take a soul tonight too. _This_ was his do or die moment.

 _Billy, Billy, Billy_. Always thinking he was better than he was. Hot shit, when he was nothing but a piece of it.

Billy stepped, with speed when he saw Steve’s weapon of choice. Steve would rather the bat, rather watch the metal sink into his skin, and watch his blood leak out, and Steve would leave him for dead.

Monkey see, monkey do.

But Steve was determined, he was in pain, and he was defeated. And Billy might be fast, but bullets are faster, and Steve put one right in that egotistical head of his.

And when Steve sat in handcuffs, in front of Hoppers desk,

”What happened, kid?”

He looked disappointed. Steve didn’t care.

”I killed him, Hop.” And if Steve weren’t dead himself, he’d be shocked at how he sounded. 

“And I wish,” He leaned closer, his eyes flooding with water as he hissed at the man in front of him, “I _wish_ , that I could do it _again_.”

And then, when Hopper said, ‘ _Take him away_.’ Steve laughed.

He was already gone.

Steve found out that Dustin died earlier in the day, and that meant that Claudia was just crying, for hours. And Steve was asleep.

Steve and Dustin were one and the same. One could not be without the other. And at 12:31 pm, Dustin was dead, and when Steve woke up, he was too.

**Author's Note:**

> one more part left.


End file.
